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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months

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in the dream i don’t tell anyone, you put your head in my lap ; shoko ieiri

synopsis; ever since the battle in shinjuku came to its conclusion, nothing’s been the same as it used to. but you don’t think anyone is doing quite as badly as shoko.

word count; 4.5k

contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader, canon-typical mentions of death (iykyk), angst, hurt/comfort (but not very heavy on the comfort), jjk spoilers (up to chapter 236!!), mild gore (mentions of blood, autopsies and general gore-ish imagery? nothing too bad tho), shoko ieiri deserves better, includes gojo slander (stay safe gojo nation)

a/n; first of all i just wanna apologize to the shoko girlies for writing angst when we’re already so starved of content, i have like 50 fluff drabbles planned for her but chapter 236 threw me into a mental angst pit so </3 yeah. i love my wife!!

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while.

the thought sneaks its way into your subconscious, as your feet carry you to her morgue — a rotten thought you just can’t seem to rinse away.

it’s not very hard to notice. she doesn’t talk as much, for one. not that shoko was ever much of a talker, but now the silence around her is deafening. thick and heavy like the spine of a knife. and she smiles even less.

you can’t remember the last time you heard her laugh.

the crescents beneath her eyes are darker than ever, darker than you thought possible. a murky purple that you’d find soothing in any other context, but like this it’s just revolting. her eyes are deep and dark, the same as ever, but now they’re glazed over with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

apathy, maybe.

or bloodlust.

the scent of cigarette smoke that follows her is suffocating. indistinguishable from her natural scent. you don’t know if she’ll ever be able to scrub the tobacco stench off her skin.

(you’ve given up on counting the exact number of cigarettes she smokes each day. you’re not sure you want to know the answer.)

she doesn’t even look alive, anymore. like some part of her already reached its expiration date. a spectre, wandering the hallways, filling the air with the slow, ominous clacking of her heels.

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while — and it’s so obvious. her grief is so heavy, her sleep-deprivation so severe. you’d have to be blind not to notice it.

so why hasn’t anyone said anything?

you gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to suffocate the bitterness swimming inside your veins. it’s a dumb question, really, because you already know. you don’t want to acknowledge it, because it’s so unfair, but you know. of course you do.

no one has the time to. it’s as simple as that.

no one’s doing well, anymore. not since shinjuku.

not since gojo died.

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing. always with her, tucked away within those eyebags, in the pockets of her coat. in that smell of tobacco, never-fading, always lingering. it follows her like a ghost, like something she’ll never quite be rid of.

(like something she doesn’t want to be rid of.)

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing, and it always has been. but recently, it’s been downright overwhelming. it used to be subtle, the kind of thing you notice if you look close enough. if you squint. if you even care enough to try.

but now, it’s more like a haunting than a simple ghost.

(geto. nanami. yaga. and now gojo, too.

how many people does she have to lose before whatever’s watching is satisfied?)

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while, and it’s obvious, and it’s sickening. she still does her duty to a tee, but she isn’t quite there anymore. gaze always forlorn, as if she’s trying to convince herself of something.

and yet no one says a thing.

everything is one big mess, right now. you don’t want to blame anyone. everyone’s exhausted, completely and utterly spent, but they’re still planning it all out. even in the midst of their mourning. because they don’t have any other choice.

this is not the kind of situation where you should be pointing fingers. a part of you is angry, livid even — but you know the others are doing just as badly. it’s not like you aren’t, either.

still, though. isn’t this just too unfair?

”i brought you coffee!”

making sure your voice doesn’t waver is tougher than you initially assumed. just the sight of her sends a tremor running through your ribs; sunken down in her chair, papers in hand, eyes scanning the pages methodically. papers of what, you’d like to ask — but you already know.

(she’s reading through the post-mortem examination report, again. searching for something you don’t understand. you’re not sure she does, either.)

and she looks exhausted.

try as you might, your voice ends up sounding a little stale, as it flows from your lips and reaches her ears. but the attempt is there — the attempt to sound cheerful, calm. normal. to give her something to hold on to.

shoko looks up at you, and her lips curl in a way you think is supposed to form a smile. it doesn’t. her eyes look into yours but it’s like she’s not seeing you at all.

when you go to give her the cup of espresso, your fingertips touch. only for a second, before she curls her fingers around the ceramic handle. she receives the coffee with a small murmur of thanks, but you don’t notice because you’re too busy thinking of how cold her skin feels.

(cold like a ghost. cold like death.)

shaking away the shivers down your spine, you allow your gaze to trail over the morgue. it looks the same as always. cold, empty. foreboding. today, you think it feels just a little chillier than usual. matching the temperature of the outside world, where everything lies buried in heaps of snow and frost.

hesitantly, you plop down in the seat right next to hers. with such a narrow distance, you can smell the tobacco sticking to her clothing. it makes you want to throw up.

(you try not to look over at the couch in the corner of the room, where a certain someone used to slack off. his awkwardly long limbs would dangle off the edges, and shoko would pretend that she didn’t enjoy his company. you were more than content with silently admiring the smile she was trying to hide.)

shoko doesn’t look at you, professional in the way her eyes run across the files. cause of death: damage to central intestines, subsequent loss of blood. from a cut to the stomach, right below the liver and spleen.

you look away before your eyes can read another line.

leaning back in your chair, you exhale a tiny sigh. desperate to fill the silence with something, anything at all. you scramble for topics, racking your brain.

(what could you possibly tell her that she doesn’t already know?)

”the others are still planning everything out,” you speak, playing with your fingers idly to distract yourself. ”i think it’s going well.”

shoko hums, unaffected. ”that’s good.”

she’s speaking to you, but that feeling of unease still won’t go away. her voice sounds still, flat. empty of emotion. but you can tell she’s trying to be polite.

that’s no surprise. shoko isn’t the type to ever show how she’s truly feeling. she’s not the type to ask for help, either. people come to her for help, not the other way around. that’s all she’s ever known.

(in that sense, the two of them were alike.)

but that just makes it all the more important for you to be there. even if you’re a little awkward, and even if you can’t do much. even if it’s only for a moment or two, you want to see her smile. you want to feel for yourself that she’s really there.

looking over at shoko, you wring your hands together, the cold air of the morgue nipping at your sweaty palms. she’s drinking from the cup, one finger around the handle as her other hand flips through the papers.

”does it taste okay?” you ask, softly. if only you could ask her that under better circumstances, with cups of espresso made with better coffee machines than those at jujutsu high. ”i made it myself, so…”

”it’s fine.” shoko takes a sip. dragging her syllables out, as if mustering the will to speak. ”don’t worry.”

short sentences. almost cold, but you know better than that. she just doesn’t have it in her to pretend that everything is normal, anymore.

and it makes you uncomfortable. this silence.

a couple months ago, it would have felt comforting; a quiet, peaceful kind of solitude shared between the two of you. nostalgic, like the smell of morning dew. or the way moonlight feels on your skin when the world falls asleep.

the silence you had with shoko always felt so tender. a single moment of peace, before the other shoe dropped. just that one moment was enough to give you the hope you needed to make it through another day.

you loved being silent with shoko. you loved her silence, the way she could soothe your very soul without saying a thing.

but now it only stings your skin. you fear that you might drown in it.

there is nothing to say. you want to ask her how she’s doing, but you already know. you want to ask her why she’s still reading the files from gojo’s autopsy, but you already know.

you want to ask her if she can still keep going, like this. but you already know.

she doesn’t have a choice.

(something crumbles, deep inside your chest, like ashes cast into the sea.)

”hey. shoko?”

she hums, again. weak. quiet. absentminded, acknowledging your words but not really hearing them.

you take a deep breath.

”i think i’m going to quit being a sorcerer.”

silence.

for a moment, nothing happens. nothing moves, or speaks. the air is cold and crisp and carries no meaning, no words, nothing at all.

like time is frozen. frozen like all the bodies shoko’s had to dig inside these past few months. frozen like gojo was when she found him in the snow.

frozen like your youth, a glass marble kept in your pocket for moments when you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is about to slip away. then you’d take it out, and look deep inside it. watch the swirling of greens and blues and purples. that streak of indigo right in the middle of the glass. memories of the past, to give you comfort.

to remind yourself of why you’re doing this. to give you a reason to keep moving forward.

(south or north, it doesn’t matter. stay as you are or move forward, look to the past or to the future — none of it matters if you aren’t alive. that’s the conclusion you came to.)

shoko’s expression, too, is frozen. it doesn’t change, even as you let those loaded words fall from your tongue. you watch her carefully, out of the corner of your eye. she doesn’t even look at you, gaze still glued to the tiny letters detailing exactly what gojo’s pulse was at when he got cut.

but something flickers, in the depths of her irises, so fast you barely catch it. something you can’t identify, but it’s still something. it’s movement. it’s alive.

”not right now, obviously,” you elaborate. suddenly a little nervous, now that the words have been made manifest. ”but… you know. once all this is over.”

not sure what else to say, you trail off, fidgeting with your fingers again. voice wavering pitifully towards the end of the sentence, because deep down you know it’s not a question of once, but a question of if.

(if this ever ends. if i don’t die tomorrow, or the day after that.)

you swallow the lump in your throat, and look at her. trying to find her eyes. trying to keep her alive for as long as you can, this sequence of motion, this moment frozen in time.

trying to reach her.

”you won’t ever have to worry about me dying,” you throw in, like the words are light and not heavy as bricks. but you know she needs to hear them. ”i’ll leave, and then — and then…”

staring down at your lap, you link your hands together. exhaling, a little breathless. sheepish, in a way. ”… well. i don’t know. i haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

you never had the chance to. you didn’t even really think of it as a possibility, as something you could do. and you know it’s not a possibility for shoko. the choice to be a sorcerer was never hers, from the very beginning.

a user of the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing almost any wound, more power and capability than a child should ever have. invaluable. she’s saved so many lives you’re sure she’ll be reborn as a god.

but the choice was never hers.

a soothing kind of ache blooms in both your palms, as your nails dig into the soft skin. hard enough to form crescents, like the ones under shoko’s eyes, that she’ll never be rid of no matter how much she sleeps. the choice was never hers.

isn’t that just too cruel?

they don’t deserve her. none of them do. the elders didn’t, the jujutsu world doesn’t — not even the students. no one deserves it; everything she does for everyone, day and night, just slaving away in the morgue or her office. cutting up curses and old friends. every second of the day, always that same buzzing of her name being called.

shoko, someone needs healing, come quick!

shoko, i know it’s 2 am and you have work tomorrow, but there’s a curse that i need you to dissect.

shoko, i think i got a paper cut, would you mind taking a look?

none of them deserve her.

you think of gojo. a flash of white hair, a grin brighter than the sun. a bloodstained smile — one shoko had to wipe away.

something ugly claws its way up your throat.

none of them deserve her. especially not him.

what were you thinking, leaving her all alone like this? so much for being the strongest. you couldn’t even stay alive.

why would you die with a smile on your face? do you have any idea how cruel that is to her?

you idiot. don’t you know how much she missed you?

— yeah. none of them deserve her. gojo doesn’t, the world doesn’t, and neither do you. no one does.

what shoko deserves is to live a normal life.

and she never will.

it’s foolish. it’s naive, a juvenile daydream. but you wish for it so, so badly. so much that even just the thought alone feels like too much to bear.

you wish you could bring her with you.

you wish you could take her hand in yours, and run away. leave it all behind, every single thing, without caring about the consequences. you’d hold her hand and never let it go, and then you’d run and run until you were both high on adrenaline and breathless laughter.

maybe you could go somewhere, together. somewhere better. outside of japan, where there are less curses. money wouldn’t be an issue, you both have more than you know what to do with — one of the perks of having a job that’s bound to kill you. you could settle down in some smaller town, peaceful, maybe a little secluded. just to make sure no one finds you.

maybe you could open up a little shop, together. or spend all your days tangled up beneath the blankets, catching up on lost sleep. talking and whispering, like you’d do back at the sleepovers you used to have. you’d make her coffee every morning, and tea every evening. you’d spend the rest of your life trying to make her laugh as loud as possible.

there’s nothing you want more. absolutely nothing. there never will be.

— but you can’t ask her.

you can’t ask her to come with you, no matter how much you want to. that’d be the cruelest thing you could possibly do to her.

she would never agree. you’d only be hurting her more. so selfish, all of these wishes. it was so much simpler back when you were just kids. when you didn’t have to care about duties or responsibilities. when your cognitive empathic abilities were just a little more lacking.

a sigh flows from your lips. resigned, but somewhat hopeful, all the same. tainted with the murmurs of a memory that’ll never happen.

”maybe i’ll open up a bakery, or something.” you tap your fingers against the desk, smiling a little to yourself at the thought. or trying to. ”then you could come visit.”

shoko looks into her cup of coffee. watching the swirling of the vortex, the abyss that gazes back at her. she doesn’t look at you but you can tell she’s listening. then she puts the cup down, and you glance at her now-empty hand.

shoko’s hands have always been pretty. even when they’re covered in grime, or stained with blood. thin, a little bony, smooth skin obscuring clear blue veins. moles litter her hands like stars in the sky; one right beneath her pinkie, another by her wrist. the more you look, the more you find.

tentatively, you broach the distance between you. curling your fingers around her slender ones, where they rest on her lap. linking hands. it’s a slow movement, drawn out and careful, accompanied by the heavy beating of your heart.

(her skin is cold to the touch. your skin buzzes with unease, but you don’t let go.)

then you smile. a small thing, not really optimistic, but the attempt is there. something for her to hold on to. looking deep into her eyes, admiring the hazel glow that never quite left them.

”i’ll give you free pastries.”

a moment passes. shoko’s fingers squeeze around yours — weakly, but it’s there. movement, motion, life. a way of reaching out. a way to hold on.

her eyes continue to trail over the page, but you know she’s not reading any of the contents. you’ve caught her attention. a small victory, but you’ll take what you can get.

”i don’t like sweets,” she reminds you, leaning back a little in her chair. allowing her eyes to flutter shut, at last — and it’s not much but it’s something. a moment of relief for those tired, tired eyes. more tired than any 29 year old’s should be.

”i’ll change your mind,” you promise, mustering up enough will to sound smug. ”my pastries will be out of this world. you’ll get a sweet tooth in no time, sho.”

she exhales a breath, vaguely amused. your smile widens, hopelessly. her happiness was always the root of yours, wasn’t it?

then she looks at you, one eyebrow raised in lazy scepticism. ”can you even bake?”

”nope,” you deadpan. ”but i’ll learn. you’ll see.”

this time, shoko almost chuckles — and it’s more than you’ve gotten out of her in recent memory. god, you missed that sound. a little raspy, from all the cigarettes, but still so honeyed and smooth. hearing it makes you feel as if everything will turn out fine, in the end.

(what a powerful thing, for a voice to do. one so lovely it anchors you to the earth.)

a faux pout curls its way to your lips, and you squeeze her hand lightly. ”don’t laugh, i’m being serious!” your pout shifts into a soft grin, a little teasing. ”i’ll get you addicted to sugar instead of nicotine.”

”haha…”

shoko laughs. shoko laughs and it’s beautiful.

shoko laughs, a genuine laugh, and it’s so beautiful that you almost don’t notice the tears in her eyes. almost.

and then you realize your mistake.

a memory comes to you, then. you recall a hushed conversation, beneath a cloudy summer sky. the air was heavy with the scent of lilacs and cigarette smoke. two people were beside you, and all you cared about was listening to the tilt of their voices. that, and nothing more. a time before everything and everyone went south.

(”you know, shoko. you really should drop those death sticks of yours.”

”i don’t want to hear that from the guy who needs 40 grams of pure sugar every day just to function.”

”rude! and as far as addictions go, sugar is a cut above nicotine, don’t ya think?”

”whatever. just worry about yourself, gojo.”)

by the time you realize, it’s already far too late. the tears have already begun to fall. little droplets of grief, sticking to her skin.

they trickle down the contours of shoko’s face, and fall onto the paper in her hand, smudging the letters. she clutches it tightly, crinkling it, just to make the damage worse. her other hand is still holding yours, chipped nails digging into your skin gently.

but she keeps laughing. low, hazy laughter — pained. she sounds like she’s in pain, and that’s because she is. even if no one ever cares to mention it.

(how cruel, for her to be born with the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing any physical wound; leaving her with too many mental ones to count. never to be healed or acknowledged, in this life or the next.)

you can only stare. helpless to her sadness. her eyes are a little red, and she’s biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood — a drop of scarlet falls onto the paper, and you think of gojo again.

you think of shoko finding him. running to his side. doing all she could to heal him, to patch him up — getting blood all over her hands and clothes. red everywhere, staining the pure white of the snowfall. like something out of a painting.

she did all that she could. pressing down on his chest, positive cursed energy pouring out from her fingertips in tandem with the snow. pressing two shaky fingers to his pulse point, just in case. just to find any sign of life, absolutely anything. hoping so tenderly that she’d feel the flutter of his pulse. that he’d get up, and laugh obnoxiously, and ask her if she really thought he’d leave her behind so easily.

you’d never seen her look so scared. so desperate, a primal kind of fear you’ve learned to associate with self-driven survival. the way some animals can claw their way out of a predator’s stomach if they’re swallowed whole. but she did that to save him. trying to claw him out, herself. from the belly of the beast.

she did all that she could.

but gojo didn’t do anything. he just laid there, split in two. frozen in time, eternally young. watching the sky. smiling.

(what a wonderful way to die. what an awful thing for an old friend to find.)

before your mind can catch up, your body acts. muscle memory, in the way your arms curl around her midriff to bring her close. tucking her into your side while she sniffles and cries. still laughing, like she’s still trying to convince you that she’s fine. like she’s isn’t falling apart at the seams.

the dam breaks. the ice shatters. everything comes crashing down — and you’re there to pick up the pieces. despite everything.

it’s not enough, it never will be. but at least it’s something.

it’s heart-wrenching, the way she clings to you. like you’re the only thing she has. the dry laughter that spills from her throat devolves into sobbing, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, nails clinging to the fabric of your clothing like she’s trying to anchor herself. broken sniffles fill the space between you as she hides away, in the crook of your neck.

(the sound makes you feel like someone drove a knife from your sternum down to your stomach.)

all you can do is hold her. quietly, delicately. as if she could break if you squeeze her too hard. as if she’d shatter like a sheet of glass if you were to say the wrong thing again.

you hold shoko like she’s fragile. because she is, regardless of what anyone else says. because she’s a human being, and she’s grieving, and she needs this.

eventually, she musters up the will to speak — and it’s awful, raspy, broken syllables she has to force out of her throat.

she chokes on the words like they’re poisonous. like she’s been carrying them around for decades, bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to be let out.

“don’t — don’t end up here,” shoko pleads, voice wavering through the syllables. full of fear. “please.”

you know what she means. she doesn’t have to say it, because you know.

don’t end up in my morgue. don’t end up on my autopsy table.

shoko sounds meek. she sounds close to falling apart. you’ve never seen her like this before, clutching onto your sleeves as if begging you to stay.

“you’re — you’re the only one i…”

she doesn’t finish, cut off by a broken sniffle. but she doesn’t need to.

you’re the only one i have left. i can’t lose you, too.

please don’t die. please don’t leave me behind.

a shaky inhale. your arms tighten around her waist, tugging her closer. praying that she’ll feel the steady beating of your heart, the undeniable proof that you’re alive. that you haven’t left her yet.

you blink away the tears in your eyes, grasping for control over your wavering voice.

“i won’t.”

and maybe it’s cruel, maybe it’s the cruelest thing you could do to her — making a promise you know you might not be able to keep. but you do so anyway. helpless to her sadness. at the complete mercy of her grief. you’d do anything to stop the tears from falling, to soothe the turmoil in her chest.

“i won’t let you be alone, shoko,” you murmur into her hair, with all the comfort you can possibly muster. ”not now, or ever.”

three words yearn to be spoken, resting on the tip of your tongue. three little syllables, desperate to be heard after living in the back of your throat for so many years.

and for a second, you think you might say it.

you think you might say it, breathe life into the statement. you can almost taste it, can almost hear it. can almost see what her expression would look like.

but shoko sniffles, and hugs you tighter. protective, like you’ll leave if she doesn’t. so tightly that it hurts a little.

and you swallow the words, once more.

right now, this is enough. it’s enough that you’re alive, that you’re here. that’s what shoko needs, right now.

she doesn’t need your love. she just needs you to stay alive.

so you will. you decide that you will, no matter what. you’ll leave, and you’ll open up a shitty bakery that won’t get any customers — and you’ll give her free pastries for the rest of your life. you’ll get her so addicted to sweets that she’ll have no choice but to come back for more.

shoko cries like a child. filling the silence of the morgue with her shaky breaths and quiet sniffles, little hiccups and whimpers. the tears never seem to stop, and you wonder how long it’s been since she last let them fall.

you hold her in your arms, smoothing a palm down her back, counting the bumps of vertebra — and don’t say anything. there’s no need to.

for now, the soft patter of your heartbeat is enough.

ijichi stands just outside the morgue, unmoving. not saying a thing.

it’s muffled, hushed and quiet, but still audible. the sound of childlike crying. the kind all sorcerers do their best to keep to themselves.

in his arms lie a bundle of papers. the final pages of gojo’s autopsy report. it’s important that shoko sees them — vital, according to her. something about the six eyes, the possibilities they hold. the hope that maybe, just maybe…

— he clutches them tightly, and then walks away.

#the wlw urge to leave everything behind and start a bakery together……#idk how to feel abt this i just!! needed to get some shoko thoughts out!!! she’s my fave jjk girl and i love the way her grief is portrayed #i just hope gege does her justice but i have a good feeling that he will!! if not its on sight #she’s so special to me. the airport scene hurts sm because she really is all alone now :(( its so fucked up i SOBBED into my pillow #well i mean. she still has ijichi. and i love him dont get me wrong but like. STILL #im delusional tho so i think next chapter shoko will use her rct to heal gojo #and then we’ll get a scene of him leaving the airport with shoko. trust me gege and i are like this🤞#sorry for basing all my titles on siken poems. anyway go read ’i had a dream about you’ its so shoko #shoko ieiri #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk 236 #jujutsu kaisen 236 #…. i think. thats all the tags…….

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slavhew · 3 months

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Hello!

If you're not too busy, would you mind listing some of the things you think count as death flags for Mr. Spender?

There's the obvious fact that he's the "old" mentor to group of young protagonists, but what else do you think would count?

OHH BOY ok so I'd think I'm a crackpot for this but since we're talking about Zack "Foreshadowing" Morrison. I have some thoughts

No harm in leading with the (chronologically) first thing that jumped out at me:

This one IMMEDIATELY made me antsy whenever I came back to it after my initial read, and considering Zack has referred to it on twitter in the past as one of their favorite jokes it's definitely not been forgotten about.

Second, the sheer amounts of near-misses, jokey or not, of Spender narrowly avoiding specifically lightning

Again, not much, but it's weird that it happened thrice, latter two of which had real gravitas rather than an one-off joke.

And third, Spender himself. He's repeatedly shown himself to be kind of a self sacrificing idiot, as well as prideful to a fault. Granted, it's both him and Mina trying to take on all the responsibility of saving Mayview and its inhabitants from their fate.. But Spender is exactly that right measure of doesn't-value-himself-enough (chest footprint aftercare or lack thereof), having an obscene amount of power (enables his loner act + pride) and poor judgement that has the capacity to put him at great risk. And it has!

Spender has not only shown low enough self-esteem to view himself as the de-facto scapegoat for the safety of the town, but also prideful enough to make very bad calls that end up in people, often himself, hurt (COUGH FORGE INCIDENT COUGH)

This is all conjecture, but it's definitely enough to make me worried about him :') Even if all this doesn't mean he'll necessarily die he's definitely getting (even more) seriously injured at some point. I love the guy but he's so far doing a horrible job of convincing me he wants to live bad enough to circumvent at least that

#not art #admin answers #paranatural #pnat #richard spender #pts-fic-notes-and-blog #before i continue on with tag ramble i just want to say tysm for leaving an ask!#none of my friends read this so ive been stewing on these thoughts for some months and i loved finally sharing them #this isn't exactly proof but the hijack possession seemingly being the final nail in the coffin for his and isabel's relationship.#idk it feels significant to me. thats one more tether to support kinda gone. someone who knows him well enough to know he's unwell #he seems not exactly content but fr incapable of not burning bridges as he is now. and considering how rashly he acts he REALLY needs those #to not do stupid shit all the god damn time with no buffer other than Lucifer. who for his measured approach to rick's hotheadedness #has honestly shown himself to be pretty lenient and kinda bad at controlling spender's more (self) destructive tendencies? so he dont count #to be clear i love spender to bits but he is dumb as rocks and has all the self preservation of a fruit fly. it needs to be said #also the lightning man... idk its WEIRD like especially on the reread its the thing that most consistently threatens him! it repeats #sure he gets chewed by a bat and banged up by forge but?? he somehow always comes back to lightning. catnine has it out for him #its something i didnt even really put together until i continued reading the flashback chapter AFTER getting this ask and went OHHHGNHF #which the only reason lightning is such a non issue is lucifer's powers. which belong to his sunglasses and not to the spirit in him #so its not like they can't be taken away he's just got a really good excuse for having those on all the time #TAGS GETTING SO LONG. ANYWAYS. i hope this is comprehensible lol

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every-sanji · 19 days

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#one piece #sanji #black leg sanji #everysanji #thriller bark #ch473 #ik this is not on the same post i had my little enstars tag ramble on #and i've said before idk how many of you read these (though evidently enough of you do i see you #people who prev tags my silly comments. and reply to me as well hiiii)#but i will not apologize for like. being silly doing life updates in the tags #i've been told one of my charm points is that i'm very passionate about things i like #idk how to flirt i just let my autism flare up til my girlfriend kisses me /j <- mostly cuz we're ldr #augh speaking of my gf.... she's coming to visit me in june for a wedding for my friend #she's my +1 i'm excited to see her we're gonna go on a cute date the day after #oh i'm excited i havent seen her since january 2023 before we even got together lmao #okay. now that i got that out of the way i should finish queuing this chapter before i go to sleep

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skitskatdacat63 · 8 months

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Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k

There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead.

Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this.

He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs. Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!

Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair.

Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.

He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.

His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?"

Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–

The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs.

One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles.

There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him.

"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"

Oh. Yes. That.

It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.

Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to.

Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly.

Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.

Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor.

Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step.

Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-

Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's.

He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.

Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before.

Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray.

He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further.

Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs, "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"

Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of!

But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons.

#i love how i kept saying to people: no no i shant write any fic for this. only art.#me like two weeks later: hey guys :)#this is just: i was sitting in class and had a drawing idea but then im obv not drawing *this* in class so my brain went into narrative mod #not exactly 'baby's first ficlet!!!' but moreso ive not written in a while so i hope its alright???#but aaahhh this was actually pretty fun!! idk i think it was bcs i was also being brainrotted by the image of seb kneeling....#maybe ill draw it. but it felt like something that needed the context of narrative and not just oo here is a drawing!#anyways you can always ask me for a directors cut-(PLEASE PLEAE BEGGING PLEASE)#see this is why im not cut out for writing fic #its not like i dont think it can speak for itself. more that im just an overly reflective person who wants to explain all my thoughts #if i wrote fic itd really be just: chapter 1. chapter 1.5 chapter 2. chapter 2.5 #anyways i think its pretty obvious but this is before their wedding and just like peak bitterness.#well not peak. peak would be the first year- first few months of their marriage #but this is fernando who is only just realizing how naive all his expectations of seb were and getting a glimpse of his future #but mostly: mindgames and power play and: whos actually really winning?#also my god jense is literally the best chara in this au. he is vibing and basically just witnessing ye olde reality tv #mark and fernando are always in a weird powerplay with seb(even if seb isnt even consiously doing so) and jense is just free from it all #hmm now how does one go about tagging fic #vettonso #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #martian #sebmark #also idk why im always so concerned abt tagging when im basically just writing this for my little boy king following i have somehow formed #hahaha! it is art to me!:#catie.art.#boy king au

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sualne · 1 year

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started reading trigun

#trigun #trigun maximum #(idk how to tag this)#my art #kept seeing art of this dude and i know there an anime happening now or soon and figure i'll read it before i get spoiled anything. keep #seeing it since i was 14 yet never actually learned a single thing about it. only thing i knew was: 1 the blond guy is the main character.#2 i think theres a desert + its scifi ish. 3 i think the 'bleh' meme come from this. im only 2 chapter into maximum rn but i hope the panel #gets easier to read because often its just too busy to be comprehensible. also the pacing is a bit weird but apparently first manga was cut #short so fellas did their best im sure. anyway i want to know why everyone love this guy so i'll keep reading. so far his twinkish demeanor #and torment have picked my curiosity

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winryrockbellwannabe · 11 days

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AAAARRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

#im so annoyed rn #Rant incoming im sorry i apparently needed to vent #HOW TF I ABSOLUTELY SUCK AT ONE OF MY FAVORITE CLASSES #like i really really find this interesting. i love to study it. i love to do the work sheets (not so much rn bc im failing it miserably)#SO HOW AM I NOT ABLE TO DO A SINGLE PROBLEM!?!?!? like this is getting ridiculous #like.... this is so sad #i actually like this. and tbh in my whole college journey there weren't that many classes i loved like this #idk this really makes me sad to be honest. bc it's one of those classes that i did try #<- it's the class that im retaking bc i failed it last year btw.#like last year i was so fucking depressed and hated my degree sm and this was the first class to make me feel the *joy of learning*TM again #and i failed it #but like miserably #and now im studying it again and im failing the easiest problems... from the first chapter #anyways dw about me - at least this is smth i actually enjoy and i want to know so it's not as painful to study #it just pains me that im naturally good at many stuff and this is not one of that stuff #arghh. gotta go watch a little bit of masterchef and go back to studying ig #aj rambles #<- lol forgot this tag

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akkivee · 24 days

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the abject horror on kuukou’s face when he realises this had gone too far and he nearly drove someone to basically killing themselves killed someone is the exact reason he was so adamant about taking the fall for everything in the ren chapter btw

#vee queued to fill the void #i’ve been hesitating making my post about kuukou and his karma bc i feel it goes a lot deeper on kuukou’s end than the concept itself #like the name evil monk comes from kuukou’s name harai means sins basically aka the evils of religion #but what if it’s also indicative of how much kuukou doesn’t like himself much and him doing so much ‘quick karma’ as shakku puts it #is kuukou overcompensating for something as he’s clearly doing here in this chapter #i have this as a post in my drafts idk if i’m going to post now that i’m about to tag vomit it here lmao #but i’ve talked ad nauseam about kuukou’s cyclical writing that’s a facet of his religion being used as his character trajectory #and i won’t go off on how kuukou can potentially be the coolest written character of anything ever comes out of it lmao #but in harmonious cooperation kuukou goes out of his way to encourage jyushi’s strength as a person #and it’s the opposite of kuukou saying he himself is weak #in that same track kuukou encourages hitoya to move on from his past #this chapter right here is kuukou clinging to something that’s making him clam up and take a punishment he doesn’t quite deserve #hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i’m crossing wires in this post lmao maybe i will post the other one talking about this one to help stay on track lol #but kuukou is very quietly working himself bc there’s a lot he doesn’t like about himself and i’m very curious to know how far that goes lol #this thought is tbc lol

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whumpy-wyrms · 6 months

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yk i was having trouble writing tllr chapter 12 because Dew is sick with a fever in the beginning and i just,, idk felt uninspired or something because im not the biggest fan of sickfics or whatever

well now i’m sick with a fever and it’s helll so sorry Dew im gonna have to put you through this now my bad 👍👍 at least i am now inspired

if this post makes no sense it’s because my brain hurts and i’m tired 👍👍👍

#i’m fine it’s just kinda funny #like last night i was writing ahead to chapter 14 because i was stuck on chapter 12 cuz i didn’t know how to write it #and now i’m sick with a fever just like Dew hahahaha sorry buddy but we’re in this together now 👍👍👍 and it’s 105 idk if that’s normal #at least it’s giving me inspiration and i am no longer stuck on it #but i’m too sick to fucking write it!!!! i wanna write uhhgjjfjdjd #ok im done #well actually i had the craziest dream last night #it was about this new animated movie that doesn’t exist and i was watching it/ acting it out as the main character and it was so fucking #cool like i was flyingggg!!! i was a weird purple creature with wings and was flying just like dew it was fucking awesome #like there were so many really cool characters with really creative designs and the antagonist was a weird giant bug who could also fly #so he was chasing me around in the air and it was so cool i was so fast flying around like in a minecraft elytra course #i love vivid dreams like that that feel real and like after the movie was finished i posted on tumblr about how much i loved this new #netflix animated movie and my mutuals were there and also thought it was cool #anyway it was fun i love flying in my dreams i feel so free.. unlike Dewey oopsie sorry buddy #deweyeyeyeye ur so silly i love him SO MUCH #ok im gonna shut up now #wyrms says stuff #fever #fever dream #if i tagged this as irl whump would i also have to tag it as minor whump hahahhaha #idk i wanna play roblox with my mutuals again #mutuals if ur reading this u can literally bother me to play video games all day every day because the answer will always #be an enthusiastic YESS!!!!#i should watch nightmare time today #no dumbass i should REST dumbass ehehheehe #i’m being so annoying again sorry everyone 😼😼😼😼

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shiqingxuanz · 6 months

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colored in a meimeng sketch today

#ngl i’m in early 200s only so all we’ve gotten from these two is bickering so far #by early 200s i mean chapters btw #anyways this sketch is a little wonky looking like they’re not even looking at each other but that’s okay for now! i will fix it. one day.#why is fur so hard to draw like how am i supposed to shade that #i should’ve used a reference but i was too lazy #i want it to be some kind of an evening winter scene in the background #like what if they were walking around town at night #erha #the husky and his white cat shizun #2ha #snow.art #erha fanart #2ha fanart #i add all these tags so that people see my art and then when they do see it i’m like ‘nooo stop liking my disproportionate looking art!’#like idk i post it and then i’m like what if it’s not good enough 😞

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ninjaaa-go · 8 months

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why am I getting so emotional about a little plastic ghost??? morro seriously has such a grip on me it’s insane

#I have too many thoughts that I can’t properly articulate here #but I’ve been watching dragons rising and just saw episode 5 so no spoilers beyond that please #but oh boy and I feeling some things about Morro #I think part of it is just supremely unfortunate timing because literally right before I watched the episode #I finished writing a chapter of my Morro centric fic and the stuff I was writing today was about his identity and how #his connection to the wind plays into it #so I was kind of emotionally primed to just have a lot of feelings about a new master of wind #I have a lot of feelings about dragons rising in general both good and bad but that’s a whole separate deal #idk if I had a point and I’m just rambling now but Morro has just really carved out a soft spot in my heart #and I’m probably too attached to him but what can you do #he and Jay are my specialest little guys and I am not capable of being normal about them #ninjago #lego ninjago #dragons rising #ninjago dragons rising #Ninjago dragons rising spoilers #dragons rising spoilers #they’re just in the tags but I figure better to be safe #ninjago morro

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sensitiveheartless · 1 year

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Thoughts on the hc that Dazai has a glass eye?

I'm just imagining Dazai getting injured on a case on his blind side, and Kunikida berates him and drags him to Yosano.

And Yosano is like "Really, again? How did it happen this time?" And Kunikida says "Idiot wasn't paying attention."

Dazai "No I was, its just my blind side."

And they both freak out because why? How? Huh? But his eye looks fine?

Yosano: Well, I can schedule an appointment and we can see if we can get you surgery or something-

Dazai: Oh its unsalvagable, I'm blind on that side.

Kunikida: Why does your eye look fine then??? (He thinks Dazai is fucking with him)

Dazai just smiles, reaches up and pull the glass eye out. Kunikida screams.

- Goblin anon

Oh my gosh alsksjdjfjf honestly I think this hc is great just for that potential moment of screaming confusion on Kunikida’s part, Dazai absolutely would do that XD

I guess in general I haven’t thought much about the implications of Dazai bandaging that eye! I know I’ve definitely seen fics and stuff where his vision is off in that eye in one way or another (@feralrookie wrote a fantastic soulmate AU where Dazai’s soulmark is on that eye and it gutted me in the best way). I think it’s really fun to see where different people go with it :0

I do think it’s interesting that he swaps which eye he bandages in the Beast universe…that feels like it has Implications but I’m not sure what they are, I’m not very skilled at analysis lol —Although, slightly related, I do love the moment in the Dark Era where Oda pulls those bandages off as he dies, because it seems like a visual representation of how much Dazai was hindering himself in the mafia (seriously, if there isn’t anything wrong with that eye, that means the dude was shooting guns without precise depth perception seemingly just for the heck of it) and then Oda pulls them off as he tells him to go live in the light and just aaaaaaaaaaaaa I am never not going to be emotional about the dark era ;;

…anyway this got off topic, basically all this to say I think that I think it’s cool how many different interpretations of it there are, and you could definitely do a lot with the glass eye headcanon alskjdjdjd

#I don’t know how coherent this is alskjdjfj #i am very sleepy #…now I’m also thinking about the fact that I don’t think we’ve seen Dazai fire a gun since he joined the ADA #unless it’s happened in one of the LNs I haven’t caught up with yet #idk that just seems significant since the times we’ve seen him fire a gun previously were: a moment of clear trauma for him(the 15 arc)#and him imparting trauma on Akutagawa in the dark era.#I feel like that might be indicative of him distancing himself from his past self #or I could be reading too much into it #fun fact that was actually why I gave him a gun in the Dazai-goes-feral-AU #because in that fic he is regressing pretty heavily due to Stress and Emotions #and also why he immediately drops the gun and leaves it behind after he fires the last shot #cause he knows he’s regressing and he’s trying to distance himself from it.#…I ended up rambling a lot sorry alsksjdjfjf #oooh actually another random thought #dyou think there’s anything going on with Q’s eyes? like can they see ok?#I know it’s a part of their character design but oh my gosh those pupils #I feel like that would seriously hamper your vision #ok I need to stop myself before I write a full chapter of nonsense in the tags alskjdjdjd #ask box #bsd dazai #goblin anon

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ophanim-vesper · 1 year

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Me when an episode/chapter/whatever is titled "[character name] and [character name]" and it explores the relationship of the two characters and how it impacts the overall plot

#simon and marcy #that's all I can name for now #shitpost #meme #show #tv shows #books #stories #episode #IDK HOW TO TAG THIS #anyways pls reblog with episodes/chapters in this similar vein

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cyncerity · 1 year

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i have no self control so i finished it today

here’s chapter 1 out of idfk! I vehemently refuse to plan things in advance beyond just various scenes I want to happen :D

I’m actually super excited for this one and really proud of it so I hope y’all like it as much as I do!

tw: parental neglect ig this is different from what I normally write

“Honestly, Wilbur, house arrest?!” His mother scolded him. Wilbur sighed and dropped his bags at the door, pushing up his glasses to rub his eyes, pointedly looking away from his mom. “I don’t hear from you in years and I suddenly get a random call that says you’re getting dumped at my house because you’ve been put under house arrest??” “I know, I’m sorry mum-“ “Were you just planning to drop off the face of the earth? Would you have just never come back here if you weren’t arrested? What were you arrested for? Why wouldn’t they just drop you off at your house? You’re an adult-“ “That’s pretty simple, I don’t have one.” “Wilbur!!”

Wilbur walked over to the couch and dropped himself on it, head in his hands. He could feel his mother’s eyes on him, staring and trying to take in how much he’d changed. He couldn’t blame her. He’d left when he was 18 to pursue music, and look at where that got him. Homeless, lonely, and arrested, the court ordered anklet digging uncomfortably into his skin at a measly 21 years old. He was a mess. An exhausted, hopeless mess.

He heard quiet footsteps as his mother came to sit next to him, and a warm arm laid over his shoulder. “You know I love you. I don’t care that you were arrested, or why you were, I really don’t. But…why didn’t you come home? I’ll always be here to help you, you know that, right? Did I…did I do something wrong?” “No!” Wilbur quickly said, head still in his hands. “No, you’re a wonderful mother, i’m just a terrible son. I..I don’t know why I didn’t come home, I’m sorry, but it’s not your fault.” His mother sighed and pulled him closer, and he relished in the comfortable silence. It had been so long since he had felt like anyone around him actually cared, and yet his mothers patience and love for him was seemingly endless, even now, even for a horrible fuck up son like him. He didn’t deserve her. If he was being honest with himself, that’s why he didn’t come back home to her when times got tough for him. Why should she have to deal with him? It wasn’t her fault that he turned out a wreck, she did the best she could as a single mother, even putting aside her passions while she put her whole focus into him.

Speaking of that, since he left, she certainly seemed to pick her interests back up, if the messy house was any indication. Or maybe messy wasn’t the right word, maybe so trashed and horder-like that it was hard to believe anyone actually lived here. Wilbur looked up from his hands to fully take in the mess that completely covered the main floor of the house. Walls were covered in taped up drawings of creatures of all kind, floors covered in similar scribbles and notes. There were some cabinets with small observation cases full of taxidermic bugs and what looked to be small…weapons? Saddles?

Well, her collection had definitely grown in the past few years.

“I see your hobby has been going well.” Wilbur said, trying to deflect the situation. Luckily for him, he knew his mother. And if there was anything that could distract her, it was asking her about her odd fascination with all things tiny. “Oh! Yeah, I forgot it’s been a while since you’ve been here. My collection had grown…a fair bit. I haven’t touched your room, though! It’s the same as it’s been, things have just been…messier.” She said, getting up to show him around. He chuckled softly as he watched her make her way around the room, carefully avoiding the piles and piles of documents scattered around the floor. She stopped at a wall of computers, pointing up at them. “I’m close, though. I have cameras set up all over the forest, and I don’t think they’ve noticed them…yet. They’re fast, but I think I have some arguable proof.”

His mother leaned over the keyboard, frantically searching for whatever new clip she had. Wilbur smiled. He couldn’t say he actually believed in any of it, despite what she had taught him growing up. Of course the idea was fun, but the older he got, the harder it was to suspend his disbelief that there may be tiny people living in the forest. How his mom kept that childlike faith in her beliefs despite the lack of proof for years and years he couldn’t know, but he was happy for her. She had something to put her heart into and believe in, and Wilbur had forgotten what that was like after music had proven to be a bust.

He snapped back to the screen as his mom made an excited noise and leaned back to point at the screen. “See! There!” Wilbur looked for a moment before taking a few very careful steps around her findings and towards the screen. It was a blurry freeze frame; one smaller brown and reddish bird, one small brown-ish spec, and a much larger black blur that seemed almost iridescent. A couple of birds and a bug, probably, the finch looking one in the lead and the large black bird and bug close behind. “Mom I’m sorry, but…what evidence am I supposed to be seeing in a bird chase?” “That’s a raven,” she pointed to the black bird, “that bird is most likely a common redpoll, and judging from the wing color and shape that’s probably a bee. But here’s the thing!” She swung back to Wilbur, an excited, manic look in her eye. And people wondered where he got his crazy from. Certainly wasn’t his father, he never knew the bastard. “The bee is out of the Ravens sight, so it isn’t chasing a food source.” She continued. “Ravens don’t go after other bird species, either, and there’s no reason a bee would chase a potential predator. But look here,” she pointed back to the screen and Wilbur leaned closer, the fuzz of the old tv brushing against his face. “you see it?”

Looking where she was pointing, there were a few thin brown straps on the bird, and a small blurry green and slightly yellow blob on its back. The raven had a spot on it where the black wasn’t as iridescent, where it looked like something was wrapped around it. It also had something on it’s back; a greyish blob with more hints of brown and black and also white, weirdly enough. And looking at the bee, it also looked like it was missing a few legs, and was built strangely, along with having something green on it. He looked back to his mom, who looked more proud of herself than he’d seen her be in years. He was sure everything on screen had a logical explanation, but who was he to break his poor mother’s heart?

“That’s great! That’s really, really amazing mom.” He said as she squealed and hugged him. “I knew you would think so!” she leaned back, hands still on his arms as she made eye contact with him and sighed. “Fuck, here I am rambling when you’ve still got settling in to do. Let’s get your bags and head upstairs, yeah? Your old room is waiting for you, and who knows how long it’s been since you slept in a bed, you impossible child.” She said, letting go and grabbing his two measly bags and guitar case. Wilbur rolled his eyes and took his guitar case from her, given that it was the heaviest. “Hey, I’m not impossible, I’m stubborn, and I get that from you, y’know.” He heard his mom mockingly repeat him and scoff from the top of the steps, and he laughed. God, he’d missed her.

~~~

“I swear to fucking god!” Phil yelled, storming his way through his castle, Techno walking quickly behind, struggling to keep pace. “I need him for one thing and he just fucking disappears! It’s a miracle I haven’t strangled that child with my bare hands.” He stopped momentarily to command more guards to triple check Tommy’s room, and Techno finally managed to catch up, panting slightly. “You know this isn’t unlike him, Phil. He likes to do his own thing, wonder where he gets that from.” “I get that he’s too much like me for his own good, but at least I was always able to take account of myself and get my shit done.” Phil responded with venom in his tone. “He’s irresponsible, he’s brash, he’s rude, I don’t know how he ended up like this or what I could have done better for him.” “I’d respond but I’m assuming that was rhetorical…” he muttered under his breath. “What was that, Techno?” “Nothing, your majesty.”

Phil continued his walk and ended up out of the palace, the sky above them turning a dark grey and a low rumble of thunder cracking through the silence. Phil, however, seemed undeterred, ending up by his stable, his trusty crow waiting for him. He pet the bird’s beak gestured to a few more guards. “Get Brian saddled, I’m heading out for a bit.” “Do you really think this is necessary?” “You forget, Techno, Tommy thinks he’s so smart, but I’m his father. He’s the teenager and I’m the adult; I’m always a step ahead.” He said, holding up his necklace. A chunky green emerald swung from a thin leather rope, identical to one that Tommy wore every day. “I thought that was to help Tommy with his magic?” “It is…mostly,” Phil said, dropping the necklace back down to his chest. “It has a lot of magic stored in it, Tommy’s does, too. His is a chip off from mine, after all. In a pinch, though, it can be used to track. As long as Tommy is wearing his, I can get him to me. If I was truly in a desperate situation, I could call Tommy to me right now. But as it stands, that takes far too much of the necklace’s power, and he just needs to learn a lesson about refusing his duties and disobeying his father.” “It’s a magic session, Phil, he practices all the time, it can’t be that much of a deal. Besides, there’s a storm coming, this isn’t a good idea.” “He’s been blowing them off for 2 months,” Phil said, straddling his bird, Brian cooing softly. “And he knows that I’m rarely ever free for them, he needs to take this more seriously if he’s going to lead. Besides, if he’s still not home before the storm starts, that’s all the more reason to find him before he lets himself get hurt.”

“Phil-“ “I’ll be ok, I promise, mate.” Phil said, eyes softening as he leaned down to his right hand man. “I’ve never lied to you before have I?” “…no, sir.” Techno said, defeated. “Have a safe flight, I’ll see you home soon. If you don’t come back with Tommy by nightfall I’m coming to find you myself.” “Relax, I‘ll be fine. I run this goddamn forest, remember?” And with that, Phil was off, Brian taking off like a shot off the stable’s branch.

Techno couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his gut as he watched Phil shrink into the distance.

~~~

Wilbur was settling in as well as he thought he would be. One thing he’d grown to hate in his short amount of time at his old house was his court ordered punishment. Other than the ankle monitor, he had to do “community service.” Of course, the court hadn’t known at the time that there was literally no community to service for miles and miles at his house, and he didn’t have a license anymore (you do donuts on a private frozen lake one time) (ok maybe 6 but that guy was an asshole). So his “community service” consisted of cleaning up the forest; turns out that the one and only road near the forest was a pretty popular spot for passerby’s to toss trash. Most of his afternoons were spent along the side of a mostly undisturbed road that had way more trash that it logically should for how new the road seemed; he doubted anyone other than the jail car he’d been driven down in had been on the road for months.

Still, he donned the eye-sore yellow “hey! i’ve been to jail and i’m serving my sentence to community!” vest and grabbed a beanie and fingerless gloves. It was spring, but under all the overhang of the trees he knew it’d feel cooler than it was, which he accounted for when he put on a yellow flannel sweater and thick slightly dirty and ripped jeans, ones he wouldn’t mind getting dirty since he was going to be kneeling on the dirt. One step onto his porch told him it was also definitely gonna storm, the sky growing dark and that spring-time smell of rain filling his senses. He decided to lace up heavy steel toed and already worn and muddied work boots and threw a thick grey hooded t-shirt on for good measure under the vest in case it (or more like when it) rained. He wished he had better than a simple hood, but he didn’t know where the umbrellas were. He’d love to ask his mother, but she had already head out that morning to double check that her cameras wouldn’t be damaged by the rain.

He hoped she just got out before the storm.

~~~

Phil flew faster as the wind started to pick up and the thunder grew louder. Brian was sturdy, and above all else fast, but Phil knew his bird’s limits. He was getting tired, and Phil wasn’t any closer to Tommy somehow. He wished his stupid crystal could work better, but it was really a game of hot or cold until he got close enough to Tommy that the shard gave him some magic feeling that his son was close by and could lead him from there. It was stupid and time consuming, but he couldn’t risk just calling Tommy to him. Turns out he probably should have listened to Techno; this storm was shaping up to be a big one, and he knew he’d need the extra magic his necklace provided in order to repair whatever damage the rain caused to his forest.

He ended up near the tar strip through the middle of his forest (the damn humans put it there years ago, and though their cursed machines came through the forest sometimes, those instances were few and far between, thankfully)(still, fuck those humans). He may hate it, but it ran through the forest somewhat evenly, so he’d be able to hopefully sense at least what side of it Tommy was on if he just went down the middle.

The storm was getting heavier, but he couldn’t give up now. There was no sign of Tommy. Phil realized at some point that his concern had shifted from “i have to teach him a lesson about wasting my time” to “oh god where is my son is he ok.” He wasn’t surprised though, really. He did truly, really care about his son, even if Tommy didn’t think so. If he had all the time in the world, he’d spend it with him, he would. But he can’t. He’d wanted to be the one to teach Tom to read, to watch his first steps, to see him grow into the young man he was now. But he hadn’t. Tommy had been raised by royal staff who’s names Phil had never cared to know. He’d been there to hear Tommy’s first word, though, but he wished it would have been under better circumstances.

It had been “Tech,” and he’d said it while witnessing one of the most brutal and gut-wrenching arguments he’d ever had with Technoblade, out of the few they’ve fought. He’d learned that Techno was skipping his guard duties in secret to spend time with Tommy. And he’d been outraged, for some reason. He’d burst into a room where Techno was telling a harmless tale to a baby Tommy and screamed at him for neglecting his duty and fooling off instead. Tommy had people to be there for him, and Phil had never cleared Techno to be one of them. Techno argued that Tommy needed someone who cared about him, not just people who were rewarded for giving him food and attention. He needed people who wanted him, and Phil clearly didn’t. It’d stung like a knife to the chest at the time, but he knew where Techno was coming from now.

The fight grew worse and worse for minutes before he’d heard the desperation in Tommy’s infant babble. They were silenced as tears rolled down his chubby infant cheeks when he realized someone who he cared about was so upset, calling out to the only person who’d ever shown him voluntary affection. And it hadn’t been Phil. It wasn’t his father, it was his father’s guard and friend. Even now, though Tommy didn’t associate with Techno as much anymore since he was always with Phil, Tommy loved Techno more than Phil. And Phil would never resent Techno for that. He trusted Techno with his life, and if Tommy had to look up to someone other than Phil, he was glad it was his most trusted confidant, but he couldn’t stop it from hurting.

His kingdom thrived, his people were happy, and his son hated him. It was just a fact of his life, at this point. Even when Phil did his best to reconnect with Tommy when he was younger, when he was finally becoming his own person, it all went downhill. They’d been the closest they’d ever been for those few years, but it all plummeted in one conversation, and Tommy never saw him the same again after that.

All he could hope is that someday, when Tommy is king, he’ll see how hard it is, and know that his dad did his best to keep him safe and happy.

~~~

Wilbur sighed as he pulled his hood farther over his head to keep his glasses from getting wet as rain started down. Yup, he’d been right. Definitely rain. Should’ve worn contacts. Damn, and he’d just started down the road, it’d be hours till he was done for the day. Still, he sighed and picked up packets of chips and broken beer bottles with his cold slippery metal trash-grabber-thing and shoved them into a garbage bag.

Unfortunately, things only got worse the longer he was out there. He’d made it fairly deep into the woods at that point, but the rain pounded onto him like hail and thunder roared around him. He just honest to god wanted to go home and sit with a cup of tea and listen to his mom ramble about whatever new thing she’d seen in woods. But lucky him, his ankle shackle tracked his movements. He was only allowed to be in the house and a little ways into the front or backyard during the day. During his torture hours (that’s what he liked to call his court ordered punishments), he was not allowed to be in the house. Instead, he had to remain on the road and somewhat into the woods for his designated amount of hours or else he’d get a couple of very stern police officers at the front door telling his mother that he was on thin ice and to do what he was ordered to unless he wanted jail time. He did not, thank you very much.

He flinched as lightning struck a tree a ways behind him. Holy shit, this was actually getting pretty bad. Was his mom still out here? Had she gone home when the rain started? God, he hoped so. But all he could do for now was pick shit up and wait it out.

It wouldn’t be that long till he got home.

~~~

Phil panted, barely able to breathe through his panic as he pushed Brian to go faster. Rain started to pound on him, but he didn’t care. He was becoming frenzied. Oh god, where was Tommy? Was he hurt? Was he back at the castle, having heard the thunder and realizing that it was stupid to be out on his own? Brian softly chittered beneath him, but he could barely process it. Phil had to find Tommy. He just had to. He couldn’t leave his little boy out here alone, cold, scared…

Phil yelped as Brian swerved out of his control, landing on a nearby tree branch that only somewhat shielded them from the storm. “Brian, wh-“ He heard a soft coo and only then felt minute quivering beneath him. He reached out a hand and felt his wings, which were shaking badly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, buddy, you’re probably pretty tired, huh…” He said, getting off the crow and petting his head. Brian pressed his head lightly into Phil’s hand as a response, and Phil reached over to his saddle and pulled out some berries and a water pouch, holding them out in front of Brian. He immediately perked up and opened his beak a little bit, enough for Phil to drop the food and pour water in. Brian cooed and nestled down onto the branch a bit more. Phil sighed and sat down next to him; seemed like they wouldn’t be moving for a little while.

They sat in silence for a while, Phil listening to the raid patter violently on the leaves above him while some stray droplets broke through and struck where he sat. He tried to even his breathing and think with a level head, but to no avail. He tapped his foot anxiously with no other way to get his nervous energy out, pulling at some of the leaves on his wrists. If Techno were here, he’d tell him to stop, but as it was, Phil was left to sit with his own thoughts as the storm raged around him.

Until the worst happened.

He wasn’t sure why his mind hadn’t registered the thunder around him. Maybe he’d gotten so used to hearing it in the past few hours, maybe he just didn’t think enough of it to even process it. All he knew after the fact was that it had been so loud it made the forest around him shake and caused a violent thud in his chest, but he hadn’t heard the warning until it was too late.

The clap of lightning around him was deafening, and snapped him out of whatever anxious spell he was in. Brian practically screamed as the trunk and the branch they were sitting broke with a ear crunching snap and heat engulfed him for a moment. He felt petals burn as pain bloomed in him and felt the gust of wind as Brian lifted in the air to avoid being hit or burned, lurching his wings downwards to try and grab Phil. And as much as Phil loved Brian, he was fast, not agile.

No amount of speed could help Phil as Brian’s beak barely missed one of his remaining petals and Phil felt himself free fall towards his forest floor. Those seconds felt like a lifetime, some parts of him knowing that he could save himself if he called onto his magic, some parts reminiscing on would happen to his kingdom, his best friend, his son…

would Tommy miss him?

He closed his eyes as the muddied grass grew closer and closer. He wasn’t sure what he wanted his last thought to be, he wasn’t sure why he was worried about it, all he could do was accept his death, knowing that once he hit the cold ground the earth would reclaim him and he’d become part of the forest he’d worked so hard to lead.

Phil landed hard, but…it didn’t feel like the cold ground he was expecting. It was damp, sure, but…warm. He heard Brian screech, but shockingly heard a different noise in response. He heard a gasp from a voice he’d never heard. It was a woman, he thought, but he couldn’t focus in on anything she said after or what was going on. He was fading out quickly, but he was alive, for now at least. The ground below him moved, the warmth starting to surround him, and the rain stopped hitting him. He should have been more concerned about what was going on, but he couldn’t find it in himself to stay awake anymore.

As he faded out of consciousness, he didn’t notice the lack of the weight that normally hung from his neck.

~~~

Logically, Kristin knew she should have gotten out of the storm before it got this bad. But she’d never really been on logic’s side, why start now?

She had started to run home when the thunder got worse, though.

Her rain boots pounded heavily on the road as she sprinted back to her house. Jeez, she hoped Wilbur’s officers could cut him a break with this one. She’d lived in this forest for over a decade and this was the worst storm she’d seen in a long, long while. Wilbur was never usually one to take instructions too seriously, so she hoped he’d just given up on the minimum hours and fucked off to go home. But she knew he also didn’t want to be in jail in case the officers were as heartless as she was lead to believe, so she couldn’t really be sure.

She practically jumped out of her skin as lightning hit a tree beside her, the leaves immediately starting to burn as bits of the top broke away and fell to the forest floor. It was getting dangerous out here, she needed to go-

And she would have if a bird hadn’t screamed.

God damn her good hearted nature, it was going to get her killed one of these days.

She ran over to the tree in time to see the bird lunging down towards a broken branch, trying to reach out to somethi-

Holy fuck.

Kristin’s eyes widened as she saw something- no, someone- falling, and falling fast. Someone green, though accented with yellow and a couple white petals, though most of what she could assume were longer ones had now been burnt back.

Holy shit, it was one of them.

Kristin ran faster and practically threw herself to the ground to catch them, the little person falling into her hands just in time. Holy shit, it was a little person. Here, in her hands, was a little man. She could barely breathe as she held him closer, taking in every detail she could. They seemed to be around her age, and they looked like a guy, but who knows how their gender roles worked in their role. God, who knew how anything worked! She had so much to ask! She could barely believe it, she’d finally done it! She got one!

She was snapped out of her thoughts as the bird screamed again, frantically flapping its wings and hopping towards her. She at first assumed it had just been hunting the little guy in her hands as a food source, but she then took notice of the green leaf-made saddle on its back. Ah, so the bird belonged to the green guy, it seemed like she’d been right in her hypothesis that the tiny people rode them to get around. It hobbled closer, and her thoughts were cut off as she gasped.

She hadn’t fully realized the damage to the bird; a few of the feathers were damaged on one side, especially on it’s wing, and it’s feet were swollen, probably from the heat. Along with that, it was shaking violently and trying valiantly to get back to its rider.

She cooed as she gently picked it up with one hand, the other still holding the small guy. It tried to fight, but in its exhaustion she guessed that it couldn’t do much. “It’s ok, little birdy, I won’t hurt you,” she cooed, closing her hand around the tiny and holding him against her chest under her coat to keep him dry. He hadn’t made a move, so she could only assume he’d fainted on impact, if he even could faint. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure if he was alive, but the fact that the crow was trying to hard to get back to him gave her hope. “We’re gonna go back to my house and fix you both up.” She slowly stood, and cringed when she realized her entire front was absolutely caked in mud, but she shrugged it off.

After all, an extra load of laundry and a shower were little to pay to see her life’s dedication paid off.

She couldn’t wait to show Wilbur.

~~~

“Phil? I’m home!” Tommy yelled. Walking into the entryway of the palace he lived in, completely drenched. He hadn’t meant to be out this long, he’s just gotten so caught up with his friends that he hasn’t realized time had passed. It was hard to tell when night fell when the entire sky was dark with a storm.

He’d only gone out to help Tubbo deliver some honey, but he and Ranboo had started talking and Tubbo had more deliveries to make so Tommy and Ranboo went to the tree base and invited Tubbo to join them when he was done. Tommy would have loved to stay at Dream’s place, but in case his dad ever found out where he’d been wandering off to he wanted the Bog king to have plausible deniability. He had started showing Ranboo all the stuff Tubbo had given him after trading with boggins, and it had turned into a fun game of “I’ll give a completely batshit description for this and then you’ll tell me what it’s actually for.” One thing looked like a torture device but was used for cutting rougher letter, and another was just a hairbrush, which Ranboo was surprised Tommy had never heard of since bugfolk used them, but hey, Tommy didn’t get out much.

Tubbo came over for a minute but left when the sky grew darker, since he couldn’t fly in the rain and had to get home before the storm. Tommy only went home once the lightning started, and Henry starting chirping, and Tommy could weirdly tell how concerned she was. Him and Ranboo also agreed that the top of a really high tree was not where they wanted to be in a potential lightning storm, so they’d parted ways for the day.

But Tommy hadn’t expected the palace to be empty, practically. Man, was the storm bad enough that the staff had gone home? He wandered his halls for a bit before he heard a voice behind him. “Tommy?” He spun frantically, only to sigh when he saw Technoblade. He dramatically caught his breath and walked over to him. “Whew, you scared the shit outta me, Blade, where’s dadza?” “He’s not with you…?” That made Tommy pause. “Nooo…should he be?” Tommy asked apprehensively, but Techno looked absolutely panicked. “He…he went out looking for you earlier. Like, this morning. You didn’t show up for your lesson with him and he said something about wasting his time and flew off with Brian. They haven’t been back.”

“…what?” His dad had gone out…looking for him? Wasn’t he more concerned about the storm? The forest? Why was Tommy the concern there? His dad rarely gave a flying fuck when he missed their lessons, why did he have to pick today of all days to throw a hissy fit and run after him? “Oh god, ok…how..how do we find him?” “I have no idea.” Techno answered, as blatantly honest as usual, but the stoic look having been replaced with fear. They both stood in silence for a moment before Techno put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Ok, I’m going to go looking for him. You’re gonna stay here and see if you can bring him back.” What? “But how am I-“

Techno reached to the emerald around Tommy’s neck, held by a thin leather strap, the same as his father’s. Pretty much the only tying them to each anymore. “Phil explained earlier that your crystals are connected. He went out looking for you knowing that the necklace would signal him when you were close by. He also said that if need be, there’s some magic property that can call one crystal to the other, since they’re just pieces of each other. He didn’t earlier since it would have taken too much power and he didn’t know how bad the storm would get, but I think we’re to that point. I don’t know shit about magic, but according to him, you should be able to use the crystal to summon him here.”

Tommy stared wide eyes at him for a moment. “I- i don’t know how to do that…I can’t-” “It’s alright, you can do it, I know you can. If if you can’t, I’ll keep looking until I find him. It’ll all be ok.” Techno said, leaning Tommy into a hug. God, this must be serious, Techno was never this emotional. “O-ok, I’ll do my best.” Techno leaned back, smiling at Tommy before clapping him on the shoulders. “You’re a good kid, Tommy. I’ll be back.” He said, walking off. He hoped Techno would be ok. The storm had been getting progressively better little by little, but it was still pretty harsh.

Tommy went up to his room and sat on the floor. Ok, so he was basically trying to learn teleportation, no biggie, just…teleport someone. Yeah, he could do that. He bring Phil back and he’d yell at Tommy for missing another lesson and he’d yell back that it was how he felt when his dad missed his entire childhood and inevitably someone would bring up mom, god forbid, and it’d end with two slammed doors like it had at least three other times that week. Great, he was so looking forward to that.

…why was he doing this again?

Tommy groaned and hit the heel of his hand against his head. His dad may be a bigoted asshole to his two best friends and a shitty father on the best of days, but he didn’t deserve to die in a lightning storm. His heart clenched at the idea that he may be too late, that he’d never see his father again and it would have been his fault since he didn’t go to that stupid magic lecture earlier.

He tried to convince himself that it was only because he didn’t want the weight of his father’s death on his shoulders. That the sore feeling in his chest was annoyance and minor guilt. He didn’t miss his dad, he didn’t care about him at all anymore.

He didn’t.

Tommy breathed in and out deeply, closing his eyes and taking the emerald off his neck, clutching it tightly in his hands. He could feel the magic practically emanating from it, and did his best to find a similar power. His dad said when he needed to do more intense magic, he used the stone to feel out the life force in the forest that needed help. He’d taken Tommy to a cracked tree once and it had taken a while, but he’d managed to ground himself enough that he felt with the tree, and used his and the stones magic to redirect energy into it and heal it. He imagined the sensation would be something like that. If he could feel specific individual forces of nature, he could feel out a magic gemstone. He could do it.

As he started to concentrate more, and as he felt his own forces spread from himself to the walls of his room and his home and the whole forest around him, the stone started to glow.

~~~

Fucking. Finally.

The storm had…somewhat slowed down. Enough that Wilbur wasn’t getting even more soaked on his way home. Though, to be fair, he felt like he would never be dry again, he was soaked to the bone.

He walked down one side of the street under the branches. Since the storm had let up, the sun had come back with a vengeance and he was wearing very thick and warm clothes. He was already drenched, he didn’t want to add sweat to that.

To give himself credit where it was due, though, walking back, the road looked a whole lot cleaner than it had previously. It may not have justified hauling his giant-ass heavy trash bag all the way back to his house, but at least he was doing something.

After what felt like hours of walking back down the road he’d come up from (he knew it was only a few minutes but he’d been picking up trash in a thunderstorm all fucking day he was exhausted) he came upon the tree from earlier that had been struck by lightning. And shit did it look bad. He couldn’t help his curiosity as he stepped closer, observing the damage up close. The top looked like it had been on fire, all burnt and blackened, but even more confusing was the large section of land right in front of where he was standing where the grass had been shoved forward and it was nothing but a slick patch of mud. It looked like the dirt on a baseball field when a catches had to slide across the ground to get the ball.

As his attention was on the ground, though, something flashed in the dim light that shone through the trees. What in the world was that?

Maybe he’d missed a piece of trash, who knows how far into the woods people can chunk things from their car. He leaned down to get a better look at it, and saw that it was shiny and a dark, deep green. Ugh, another piece of a goddamn beer bottle that someone shattered against something. Though, this one didn’t look like the large smooth but sharp edged pieces he’d picked up like a hundred of. Something was odd, so he dropped his grabber and bag to examine it more closely.

None of it was smooth; it looked somehow natural. It was think and rough, but not sharp, not polished and thin and clear like he’d seen. Maybe it could be a rock? It also had a weird brown strap attached to it, each side of the rope having scorch marks on the end. Wilbur guessed that the fire had split the strap holding the stone on. Maybe it had been…a ring? Who uses a thin flimsy leather band as a ring? He also didn’t know who would have been in the forest to lose a ring, other than his mother. Maybe he should bring this home and ask her, and if it’s not hers, can’t hurt to see what the stone is and how much it could be worth. A little extra money never hurt.

As he looked at it more closely, he realized it was greener than he originally thought. It was brighter, almost. Had the sun started hitting it differently? He held it up to a patch of sunlight, and watched in awe as it looked like it almost started to glow. Woah, maybe he could get some serious cash for this thing after all. But as he brought it back down from the light…it was still glowing. Like, actually glowing. And it was getting brighter and brighter.

He confusedly wrapped his hands around it, peeking in to see if it was still somehow just a trick of the light or if it was glowing. He saw a trickle of green light breaking through the cracks in his intertwined fingers, but when he went to peer in closer, something happened. His hand jerked in the exact wrong direction, smacking him clean in the face and right against the left side of his glasses, shoving them hard enough that he heard a crack. Before he could be too confused about that, though, his hands were suddenly yanked forward, enough to trio him off his feet, but…

He was still upright. There wasn’t any weight on his legs, but he was upright. He looked back up to his hands and saw the glow getting brighter and brighter still, to the point it was almost shining through his hands.

His blood turned cold and pure fear flooded his body as he felt himself get lifter up higher. He frantically tried to let go of the stone, putting all his effort into ripping his hands away, but nothing. He felt tears drip down his face, he wasn’t sure when he started crying, but he paid it no mind. It swung him around again, almost slamming him into a tree. He tried to push away but he was like a ragdoll to this thing. It felt like he was in the tornado scene of the Wizard of Oz.

“Help!” He screamed, his muscles starting to get sore from the useless strain of trying to free himself. “Fuck, Help me!” Nothing moved. His hands stayed firmly stuck around the crystal. “Someone!” He started to feel nauseous, and he felt himself shaking from the fear. “Anyone?!” The world around him started to morph as the edges of his visions turned green. “Mom!!” And suddenly he was gone.

~~~

A green flash filled Tommy’s room as he shot up from where he’d been sitting. Holy fuck, he did it. He did it, he actually managed to do it!! He ran to the figure as the magic began to clear only to stop dead in his tracks, his face falling.

Something stood in front of him. Not his father, not even a leafman, but something.

He wore clothes that were somewhat reminiscent of Ranboo’s, but they were more…patterned. It was weird material, and it’s not like Tommy knew many people who actually wore clothes, but he’d never seen anything like it. The man was also a weird color, not green like him or any shade of grey like a boggin. He was tall, taller than Tommy, but still dwarfed under most boggins. Maybe he was a bugfolk? But he looked too squishy. He didn’t have the hard chitin that Tubbo had, his skin looked like it felt more Like Ranboo’s but without the spikes.

His thoughts halted as he noticed that the man hadn’t even seen him yet. He’d taken a second to look around, but he was just staring at the emerald in his hands-

The emerald.

That was his dad’s emerald.

Tommy went to take a step closer, the dead silence in the room broken for just a second by his footstep. The man’s head snapped up and he just as quickly fell over, mouth agape and breathing heavily. It was only then that Tommy realized he was also shaking like a leaf.

They both just stared at each other for a minute, neither making a move. Tommy’s confusion slowly warping to anger and the other creature’s morphing into fear and apprehension.

“Why the fuck do you have that?!”

“What the fuck are you?!”

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